


Accept No Substitutes

by jessalae



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anniversary, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, Established Relationship, M/M, Magical Accidents, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quentin Coldwater's Canonical Oral Fixation, Sex Toys, rubi told me not to do something so i did it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27313375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae
Summary: “There was a minor incident at work,” Eliot says calmly. “The spell required to fix it has some side effects. They’ll take several days to wear off. And I didn’t want that to negatively impact our anniversary tonight, so I picked us up a little something to make sure we still have a good time.”
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 27
Kudos: 119





	Accept No Substitutes

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in some vague post-canon everyone-lives AU. Doesn't really matter. The point is: porn.

Quentin is no stranger to mood swings, but happy to intrigued to thoroughly alarmed in the space of ten seconds is an intense one even for him. “What do you mean, ‘don’t freak out’?” he asks, rocking back a step to look frantically at the plain brown paper bag in Eliot’s hand. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. This is exactly what I didn’t want.” Eliot sighs and puts the bag down on the coffee table. “I am fine. Or I will be in a few days. But I need to tell you, I’m going to be a little— out of commission until then.”

“What does that mean?” Quentin asks. He looks Eliot up and down, not seeing anything obviously amiss. “Out of commission? Like, sick, passed out? What? Don’t you dare fucking laugh at me,” he adds, seeing the fondly amused look on Eliot’s face. “This is your fault. I mean— whatever happened to you may not be your fault, but me freaking out about it is definitely your fault.”

“There was a minor incident at work,” Eliot says calmly. “The spell required to fix it has some side effects. They’ll take several days to wear off. And I didn’t want that to negatively impact our anniversary tonight, so I picked us up a little something to make sure we still have a good time.”

“You’ve said a whole lot of words and still not told me what the fuck is going on,” Quentin says.

Eliot’s face contorts. “It’s fairly embarrassing,” he says, twisting one of the several rings on his fingers nervously.

“Do I look like I give a shit right now if you’re embarrassed?”

“My dick isn’t working,” Eliot says abruptly, definitely louder than he needs to. “Temporarily. It’s a long story, but I won’t be able to get hard or come for at least three days.”

Quentin stares at him, then drops his face into his hands. “Jesus, Eliot,” he says, muffled, relief flooding his body. “That was a lot of fucking buildup for just _that_.”

“ _Just that_?” Eliot repeats incredulously. “This is a big fucking deal. This is— it’s a serious matter, for me.”

Quentin grins into his hands. “A big _fucking_ deal, more like,” he mutters, looking up, and then when Eliot glares furiously at him he closes the distance between them and hugs Eliot firmly around the waist. Eliot can only handle holding his body haughtily still for just a second before he gives in and wraps his arms around Quentin in return. “I’m sorry. I know this is a big deal. I don’t want you hurt, ever, and I know—” What was the right thing to say? You’re extremely proud of your dick, and with good reason? You have this neurotic belief that the only reason I stay with you is because you’re amazing in bed? “—I can see how this would be especially hard. Uh, difficult, I mean.” He bites down on his lip, hiding his face against Eliot’s chest. As long as Eliot’s actually fine, this is objectively kind of hilarious, but he can’t start making the million terrible dick jokes he wants to make until Eliot’s less mad at him.

“Thank you,” Eliot says into Quentin’s hair, sounding at least a little bit mollified. “It is what it is. I’ve survived serious blows to my ego before. And I’m not going to let anything stand in the way of me tenderly railing you all night to celebrate having dated for two years.”

Quentin looks up at him. “Um, it does seem like this would pretty much stand in the way of that. Like, definitively.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” Eliot says. He kisses Quentin’s forehead and hands him the paper bag, which he’s telekinetically summoned over from the coffee table. “Happy anniversary, Q.”

Quentin reluctantly stops hugging Eliot to take the bag, which is heavier than he was expecting it to be, and open it. His eyes widen.

“Holy shit, Eliot.”

“I couldn’t decide what you’d prefer,” Eliot says.

“So you bought the entire store?”

“Just the biggest ones.”

Quentin tips the bag out onto the coffee table, spilling dildos all across the surface. “You’re not fucking kidding.”

They’re glorious. Every color of the rainbow, tie-dyed, striped. Some are realistically shaped, with balls and heads and, in one case, foreskin. Others are more sculptural, thick sinuous curves that don’t naturally occur on human bodies but would certainly get the job done. Every one of them is _huge_. Quentin picks one up and squeezes it; the silicone flexes under his fingers, but there’s a firm core in there. His mouth waters.

“I didn’t get any that only came in flesh tones, either,” Eliot says. “It seemed — too much like giving you an actual replacement for my dick.”

Quentin manages to look away from the plethora of sex toys to see Eliot looking perfectly calm. Too perfectly calm. Quentin knows he’s a ball of churning anxiety under that aloof facade. Even two years into this, half a dozen years into being friends, Eliot still falls back into the habit of putting on a show sometimes when he’s truly uncomfortable. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, taking Eliot’s hand and drawing him close again. “There’s no replacement for your dick. Especially because it comes attached to all the rest of you.”

He tilts his face up to kiss Eliot slowly until he can feel the tension draining out of Eliot’s shoulders. “Are you sure you even want to have sex tonight?” he asks when they come up for air. “It’s seriously totally fine if you don’t. We have sex plenty of other nights. We can just cuddle.”

“There will certainly be cuddling afterward.”

“Are you even going to enjoy it, though?” Quentin asks. “I mean, if you can’t get hard, and you can’t come, is that not just going to be frustrating for you?”

“Probably a bit,” Eliot says. “But I’ll just save up my frustration and take it out on you when I’m recovered.” He runs one huge hand down Quentin’s back to palm his ass, and Quentin grins and kisses him hungrily. “Now. Anything here catching your eye?”

Quentin turns back to the coffee table. There they all are, hard and ready for him. It’s overwhelming. It’s— he holds back a giggle, and deadpans, “I don’t know yet. They’re a lot to take in.”

Eliot groans, letting his head fall heavily onto Quentin’s shoulder. “What have I done,” he says. “I’ve turned our anniversary fuckfest into a minefield of terrible puns.”

“I’ll try to avoid making them,” Quentin says. “But it’s gonna be really, _really_ hard.”

“Jesus.” Eliot waves a hand, and all the toys float off the table and pile themselves neatly back into the bag. “You can decide later. Our dinner reservation is in an hour, we should get dressed.”

Dinner is like nothing Quentin’s ever had before, an avant-garde tasting menu by one of the city’s most celebrated young chefs. He’s not quite sure what half the things on his plate are, and the things he does recognize don’t seem like they should ever be in the same dish together — onions and peanut butter, really? — but everything is delicious. And the drinks that go with each course are at least as good as anything Eliot makes. Possibly even better. Not that he’d ever dream of saying that to Eliot.

He’s feeling pleasantly full and relaxed when they arrive home, where he immediately notices the brown paper bag on the coffee table and remembers what the rest of the night has in store for him. He turns and waits, and the second Eliot’s done locking the door and setting their wards behind them, Quentin pounces, pushing him up against the door and kissing him thoroughly.

Eliot makes a happy noise and pulls Quentin close, threading his fingers through Quentin’s hair. He’s resplendent in a deep green waistcoat over a crisp white shirt, and the only thing Quentin wants more than to see him in it is to get him out of it.

“Should we head to the bedroom?” Eliot asks as Quentin works frantically at Eliot’s myriad buttons. “Or will round one of tender railing be taking place on the living room floor tonight?”

“Bedroom,” Quentin says decisively. It takes a herculean effort, but he steps away from Eliot, now looking ravishingly disheveled with his shirt half-unbuttoned, and crosses the room to grab their bag of goodies and head straight for their destination.

Eliot drifts into the bedroom after him, lazily unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, as Quentin dumps the sex toys out on the floor next to the bed and starts stripping out of his own charcoal gray suit. “You sure you don’t want to take this show on the road? There’s at least a couple flat surfaces in the apartment we haven’t christened yet. We could make it our mission to break them in tonight.”

“Later,” Quentin says. “When you can fuck me with your own dick.” He stops short for a second with his pants half-open. “When you said you can’t get hard, you meant like, it’s just not gonna happen, right, no matter what? Not that if you get turned on, something bad will happen?”

“The former.” Eliot steps up to him and picks up where Quentin left off, getting Quentin out of the rest of his clothes.

“Good,” Quentin says, as soon as he’s naked, and drops to his knees in front of Eliot.

“Q,” Eliot says, halfway between a moan and a protest. Quentin’s already got Eliot’s pants open and down around his knees. He leans forward to bury his face in Eliot’s pubic hair, press a kiss to the soft inside of Eliot’s thigh.

He sits back on his heels. “If it’s too weird, I don’t have to. But I still want to make you feel good.”

Eliot swallows hard. His hands have instinctively drifted to cradle the back of Quentin’s head. “Go ahead,” he says finally. “Just— gently?”

“Yeah,” Quentin says, and licks his lips, focusing on the task at hand.

As advertised, Eliot’s completely soft. Quentin sees him like this every day, changing clothes and going to the bathroom and just out of the shower. True, usually by the time Quentin’s down on his knees like this, there’s at least _something_ going on. But it’s not an unfamiliar sight, this gorgeous dick relaxed and smaller, foreskin closed over the head. Quentin takes it in hand, figuring out his angle of approach, then carefully feeds it into his mouth.

It’s still a mouthful. He holds it gently between his lips, sliding the flat of his tongue up and down inside his mouth to massage the underside. Miles above him, Eliot groans, and his fingers slip into Quentin’s hair.

Quentin pulls back carefully. “Okay? Is that, is it actually good?”

“It’s really good,” Eliot says. He looks down at Quentin, his face glowing with the open-mouthed grin that he gets when he’s intensely turned on. Quentin loves him so fucking much. “God. You are incredible, the things you come up with to do to me.”

Quentin grins back up at him and then goes back to work, getting Eliot’s dick back in his mouth and sucking so, so carefully. He has to keep reminding himself that it isn’t going to start hardening and growing as he licks at it, and that’s fine. It’s just temporary. Besides, this way he can get it _way_ into the back of his throat without even having to hold back his gag reflex, and apparently that’ll still make Eliot tug on his hair and choke out his name the way that always does.

He keeps at it for a while, then draws his mouth off of Eliot, kisses Eliot’s thighs. He looks up, knowing his lips will be flushed and spit-shiny and knowing exactly how much Eliot enjoys looking at them when they’re like that.

“Fuck, baby,” Eliot says. He slides two fingers into Quentin’s mouth, lets him suck on them for a moment. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Quentin stands, Eliot’s fingers still in his mouth. He doesn’t let them go until he’s at his full height, close enough to Eliot’s face to lean up and kiss him hungrily.

“I have another idea,” he says. “If you’re open to some, uh. Creative positions.”

“Always,” Eliot says. He cups Quentin’s ass in both huge hands, fingertips sliding in to part Quentin’s cheeks and tease around his hole. “How would you like me? Should I levitate you again, since the problems we had last time aren’t a factor here?”

“You mean you’re not going to lose concentration when you come and drop me on my head? Are those the problems you’re referring to?” Quentin grins and kisses the embarrassment off of Eliot’s face. “Maybe for round two. I was thinking more like, sixty-nine position, me on top? Except you fuck me with one of the toys while I suck your dick?”

Eliot kisses him deeply, a moan rumbling through his chest. His fingers tease across Quentin’s hole, stroking gently, and Quentin shudders. He had already been well on his way to hard, and now with Eliot’s hands and mouth all over him his cock is thickening up steadily, pressing eagerly into Eliot’s thigh.

Eliot waits until Quentin is gasping and trying to shove back onto his fingers, get them _inside him for fuck’s sake_ , before he steps back and gently pushes Quentin’s shoulder to make him spin around. “Pick out a dick for me to fuck you with,” he says. “Make it a good one. I want to make you fucking scream before I’m done with you.”

“You— god.” Quentin drops to his knees again, this time to sort through the pile of dildos on the floor in front of him. “You can’t just, say shit like that, fry my brain, and then expect me to make decisions. Like.” He holds up two toys to show Eliot, stretched out on the bed. “How do I even— _look_ at them—”

“I am,” Eliot says, a huge grin on his face. “And I’m looking at you, and the look on your face is truly something right now.”

Quentin tries to glare at him, but he knows it comes off as more of a pout. Eliot’s grin only widens. “Can I have _all_ of them?”

“Not at once, no.”

“ _Obviously_ that’s not what I meant—”

“Honestly, I never know with you.”

“Well now I’m thinking about it, so.” Quentin finally picks up a pearlescent lavender dildo, nice and thick with a serious head, and climbs up onto the bed, kissing Eliot hard before he turns to get in position.

The biggest problem about this position is he can’t see Eliot’s face, track his expression as Quentin kisses his thighs, licks over his balls again and again. He can hear the little jumps of Eliot’s breath. And he can feel Eliot’s fingers squeezing his ass, tracing the familiar pattern of their usual cleaning spell, whispering a few words to conjure the lube Quentin now feels trickling down his crack.

“Can you, like. Talk to me?” Quentin asks, as Eliot’s fingers go back to circling over the surface of his hole, pressing just a little harder than before to massage the furled muscle in a way that makes arousal race up Quentin’s spine. 

“Of course,” Eliot says, his deep velvet baritone making Quentin shudder like it always does. Always. Not just in bed, Eliot could fucking turn him on reading the phone book if he wanted to. “Your ass is so fucking cute—” he pulls one big hand back, and Quentin realizes what’s happening and thrills with anticipation a split second before it lands on him with a resounding smack. Quentin moans. “Just, gorgeous. I love grabbing it, playing with your hole. Fucking you hard and looking at it all split open around my dick.”

Quentin moans again into the crease of Eliot’s hip. This is going to be intense. He probably won’t last long, not this first round, anyway. And even though there’s no rush to make Eliot come first, since he literally can’t, he still wants Eliot to enjoy it. So he takes Eliot’s cock gently in hand again and conjures a handful of lube so he can stroke it carefully, sliding his fingers smoothly along the soft weight. “I love that,” he says, already breathless.

Eliot’s fingertips push inside him, twisting and curling as they tease him open. “You open up so good for me,” he says, and Quentin takes it as an instruction, bearing down and letting Eliot’s fingers further inside. He fucking loves it when Eliot goes right for two fingers, just the right amount of stretch and almost-burn without actually hurting him. “If I believed in any higher powers who weren’t total idiots, I’d say your ass had been made for me, the perfect fit for my cock.” He curls his fingers and Quentin swears, his hips jerking with the slick pressure over his prostate.

Eliot’s hand leaves his ass again, and Quentin sucks in a breath in anticipation of another spank — they don’t do that enough, maybe that’ll be another request of his for a future round tonight — but instead Eliot reaches forward and tugs on Quentin’s cock. An explosive moan-gasp-yelp flies out of Quentin’s mouth, and Eliot laughs. “Not expecting that? You know I can’t keep my hands off this beautiful dick.”

“Oh, I know,” Quentin breathes, as Eliot strokes him. He’s so fucking hard, god. “El—”

“I know, you want to come with a fat cock inside you,” Eliot says soothingly. “You always do. You will. I’ll fill you up with it, fuck you hard, make you really feel it.” Quentin gasps, already beyond words as Eliot works a third finger into his ass. “Maybe tonight’s the night we figure out if I can fist you. I know you’ve been wanting it.”

Quentin’s brain is melting out his ears. He crushes his face into Eliot’s thigh. His hand is barely moving on Eliot’s cock anymore, he’s so distracted by thoughts of Eliot filling him up, with a toy or his _entire fucking huge hand_. He can feel his hole twitching around Eliot’s fingers just thinking about it.

“Oh, you like that idea?” Eliot asks, sounding amused. “We’ll see. I’d really have to get you loosened up for it to work. Probably make you come a couple of times first so you could actually be patient. Suck that pretty dick. Jerk you off. Then just work on you slowly until you stretch for me, so I can fit all of this in your tight little ass—”

“ _Eliot_ ,” Quentin wails, shaking, shoving back onto Eliot’s fingers. Thank god Eliot’s not stroking him anymore or he’d have come already.

“See, this is what I mean about being patient.” Eliot pulls his fingers out of Quentin’s ass, and Quentin feels like he might actually cry. “Didn’t you want to suck my dick? You’re so distracted you forgot all about it.”

“Yeah,” Quentin manages. Without Eliot’s fingers in him his head is clearing, his body easing back from the edge. He carefully maneuvers Eliot’s cock into his mouth, heavy soft weight so good on his tongue. He sucks lazily, barely sliding his mouth, and if he had to only listen to one sound for the rest of his life the little gasp Eliot makes would be a pretty good candidate for the job.

“That’s it,” Eliot says, sounding strangled. “God. Your mouth is incredible.” Quentin hears a rustle of sheets, a slick sound of lube. “You just keep doing that, put that beautiful mouth to good use while I get us set here.”

Quentin moans around a mouthful of dick, his cock twitching against Eliot’s chest, as Eliot pushes the toy against his entrance. There’s a moment where the angle isn’t quite right, and Eliot huffs out an irritated breath, but then he repositions and Quentin’s pretty sure his eyes roll back in his head as the cock pushes in and slides, slides, _slides_ and fills him up. It’s not as good as Eliot’s dick because nothing is, but it’s basically the same size, which is to say _big_ , stretching him open so beautifully. The firm silicone of the head is hitting all the right spots. Quentin moans again, kind of attempting to say Eliot’s name, but there’s no way it’d be intelligible even if his mouth wasn’t full, he’s too overwhelmed.

“There we go,” Eliot sighs. He draws the toy out an inch or two, and when he pushes in again Quentin rocks back, chasing the stretch. “Feel good?”

“So good,” Quentin gasps, letting Eliot’s dick fall out of his mouth. “Keep going.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Quentin feels Eliot shifting his grip, then he starts fucking Quentin with the toy, steady and deep. “This dick can stay hard all night. Literally. No, leave it out,” he says when Quentin fumbles to try and get Eliot’s cock back in position to suck it more. “Don’t worry about me, just feel it. Just let me fuck you. I want to hear you scream.”

Quentin can’t answer. The way Eliot’s working the dildo inside him, just the right amount of force, the perfect drag on the way out, has him moaning sharply every time the toy bottoms out in him. Not quite screams, but not far off. 

Eliot hasn’t touched Quentin’s dick again, but he’s angling the toy perfectly to slide the broad head across Quentin’s prostate, and Quentin is rock hard, leaking a little more with every stroke. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me how you like me fucking you.”

“I love it,” Quentin gasps, rocking back into each stroke. “I love it, I love it, god, fuck, Eliot _fuck me_ —” He breaks off in a wordless moan as Eliot grabs around one of his thighs so he can hold him in place and fuck him with thrusts so hard they would shove Quentin forward if he weren’t anchored. “Fucking give it to me, I love it when you get rough. Mm, love making you lose control—”

“Oh, you do that so easily,” Eliot purrs behind him. He’s breathing hard, either with arousal or with the effort of driving the toy into Quentin’s ass, it’s not entirely clear. “You drive me wild. Half the time I don’t even know if you realize it. You’re so gorgeous, you respond so well to everything I give you. It’s a miracle I can keep my shit together long enough to make it good for you, the way I just always want to shove my cock in you and fuck until I come inside you.”

“Do that, yes—” Quentin is shaking, tingly all over. “I always want it—” He’s so goddamn close already, balanced on a knife edge of needing to come so badly but not wanting Eliot’s deep thrusts to ever stop. 

Eliot switches things up, rocking the dildo in short little pulses so the ridge of the head never stops skating across Quentin’s prostate, and Quentin _screams_ , toes curling, loud enough that he can barely hear Eliot’s low, rumbling “That’s it, get off on this hard dick, fucking beautiful—” Eliot’s hand wraps around Quentin’s dick, jerking him off with slick fingers. “You close? You gonna come on this big cock?”

“Yeah, gonna come,” Quentin whimpers, balls drawing up, every nerve fizzing with it. “Gonna, fuck, fuck, oh fuck—” and he screams again as his orgasm tears through him. Eliot holds the toy all the way inside him, firm and big and so good to squeeze around.

When it’s over Quentin goes boneless, still panting with the aftershocks, and then suddenly he feels himself lifting up and spinning in midair and then Eliot’s hands are framing his face, pulling him in for a deep kiss as the rest of his body gently lowers down to rest on top of Eliot. It takes a good few seconds until Quentin’s got enough brain power to actually kiss back. When he finds himself again, though, he gets his tongue into Eliot’s mouth immediately and Eliot hums happily.

“Good?” Eliot asks.

“Good,” Quentin agrees. “Jesus. Fuck. So good.”

Eliot curls a finger, and the invisible pressure that’s been keeping the toy nestled deep inside Quentin disappears, letting it start to slip out. Quentin groans as it moves where he’s still so sensitive, his hole twitching, and reaches back around behind himself to retrieve it. “So. Eliot’s Dick 2: Silicone Edition was a hit,” Eliot says.

Quentin laughs. “Sequels are never as good as the original, though.” 

“I suppose we’ll never get the green light for the next installment in the series, then,” Eliot says with a dramatic sigh.

“I didn’t say _that_.” Quentin rolls off of Eliot so Eliot can clear the come and lube and sweat away with a simple spell, then molds himself against Eliot’s side. “I love you,” he says, his face pressed kind of awkwardly into Eliot’s armpit.

Eliot shifts them so Quentin’s tucked against his chest instead. “I love you too,” he murmurs into Quentin’s hair.

“I love you regardless of what we do in bed,” Quentin adds. He feels Eliot’s chest move against his forehead as he huffs out a little laugh, like he always does when he’s trying to pretend Quentin didn’t just hit home and pinpoint exactly what Eliot’s anxious about. “I’d love you even if your dick got cursed forever. I’d mourn, obviously, but. It wouldn’t stop me loving you.”

Eliot’s silent for a long moment, holding Quentin tight. “I know,” he finally says, his voice a little rough. “I love that about you.”

Quentin makes a pleased noise and snuggles even closer. “So, uh,” he says eventually.

“Yes, I’ll fist you.”

“You’re the fucking best.” Quentin grins. “Also the _fucking_ best, specifically.”

“Mm, not one of your better attempts.”

“You didn’t like it? I thought _long and hard_ about it.”

“I should’ve bought you a gag while I was at the sex shop.”

“Yeah, you really _screwed_ yourself there.”

“Christ. Why.”

“You love me.”

“Fuck.” Eliot kisses his forehead. “I really do.”


End file.
